Tea with Cinnamon
by Pholo
Summary: Reim's the one to find Break this time. A small something. I think my stomach was ripped out of me since the last chapter.


He comes to gradually.

He becomes aware of his mouth first. His tongue feels cottony and dry, and he pries the muscle from the roof of his mouth. Break swallows. The blood has dried around his mouth, and crusted segments come away as he runs his tongue over his lips, small red pepper flakes, to dust the base of his chin and the larger creases of his clothes. Break coughs once, a dry scrape of a sound, and more skin peels away from his chapped lips to settle on the cement floor.

Break retracts finally and allows his head to sag. His eye slips closed again, but he doesn't sleep. His ribs have been bruised, possibly snapped, and the pain keeps him conscious.

His head throbs. Break clenches his teeth until he feels the bones strain.

He wonders how long he will last. The muscles of his arms have begun to spasm.

Sleep must have overtaken him after all, because the next time he opens his eye, slim fingers are at his wrist. Though he can not see them, he senses that they are long, and so tense that the skin of the knuckles feel paper-thin against his arm. He senses small traces of them-gentle touches-as they pass his pulse, then push there. Break forces himself not to wince at the contact.

"Shit," says a voice.

Break lolls his head back. He tries to open his mouth, but feels nausea crawl up the length of his stomach. He swallows down the words with the bile.

The person who can't be Reim begins to paw at his restraints. The metal has rubbed raw the skin of his wrists. Break feels a small, coppery bead of cold trail down the length of his arm. He squeezes his eye shut and exhales loudly through his nose.

He's blacked out again by the time he feels his skin-stripped wrist begin to slip loose. He awakens fully a few moments later to find his right side unburdened. Curious, Break flexes the muscles there. Pain shoots up his arm so suddenly he cannot help but gasp. His fingers curl, flex against the calluses on his palm. He sags.

"Come on," Reim snaps at him, as he watches him slip downward. A hand finds his face. More blood runs down the length of his arm. "Come on, Xerx," he says again, his tone dangerous. Break feels himself stir. "I'm nearly there. Hold on for another second, okay?" He's got his hands on Break's other arm now, warm against his goose-pimpled skin. There's a sharp clack of something metallic, and Break feels his left arm drop another half degree. "Another two seconds," he corrects. Break allows himself to go slack.

Suddenly, a sharp snap. Break feels the release of his wrist. His feet touch the floor, where he had been suspended on his toes. He crumples. The clap of bone against cement catches him off guard.

Before his head reaches the floor, an arm wraps around his back, another around his front. Reim hugs his friend's form to his chest.

Reim murmurs something between them. Dusty fingers find the bruise on Break's cheek. The dirt of his hands prickle the skin there.

"Come on, Xerx," he says again, stronger this time. He gives him a small shake. "Talk to me." He murmurs something that sounds like another curse.

The arms drag him closer. Break slumps against the man's shoulder, occupies the nook under his chin. His uniform smells of something caught between sulfur and tea.

"Xerx," Reim begs. Break swears he can feel the man's throat constrict. Reim rests his head atop Break's, massages his shoulder. His hand has begun to quake.

Break opens his mouth, presently, like an afterthought.

"Stop being such a," he swallows messily, "damn romantic."

Reim tenses. The pressure leaves his head as Reim wrenches his own away. He turns Break's head to face him, and clumsy fingers find the pulse of his neck.

A throb of blood graces his fingertips. Break hears Reim's queasy laugh, the relief of his voice. Break tries to smile, and his lips crackle audibly. "Fuck you," Reim snarls down at him. He drags his body close to him again, almost viciously, so that Break can feel the hammer of his own heartbeat throb against his. "Fuck you, Xerx, fuck you and your stupid-" he heaves out a choked noise. The breath prickles Break's skin. He doesn't seem able to form words. Another shudder. "Thought you were already dead, you stupid fuck."

Break's forces his lips open again. "Can't find a pulse for your life," he teases.

Reim buries his face against his. Their noses touch.

"Shut up," Reim rasps. "Just. Shut up."

"Thought you wanted me to say something."

He grumbles something.

"You ass."

"Are you done," he coughs once, "being such a worrywart?"

"We'll see." A pause. "Can you walk?"

His feet are still asleep. He can sense the first tingles of static. His boots feel leaden and his knees are bruised. His side aches like his rib cage has been pried open by metal hands, and his head feels heavy against Reim's. He pauses, feels Reim's cool skin against his face.

He shuts his eye again. He breathes, and remembers morning tea, hot and homemade, and the hush of the early hours, Reim's back against his as he polishes up his desk work, pinned to a small clipboard and occupied by dozens of small pen marks. Reim pulls back. The memory peels away from the back of his eyelid as he forces his eye open again. Break feels the fabric of his uniform rasp against him. "Xerxes," he repeats, more urgently. "Can you walk."

"Don't," he tries, and shudders. The last traces of tea smell are swallowed up by the coppery stench of his own blood. "Think so."

"Afraid we're going to have to move you the hard way, then." Reim raises his shoulders to shrug Break's limp body closer. Break feels his head bump against Reim's sternum. Reim's legs bunch underneath him as he begins to surge upward. "Sharon lost my shadow a couple rooms back," he grumbles, as he moves. His motions are strained. "There are some heavy seals down here."

"Thought so," Break manages between clenched teeth. He can't suppress a small groan as they rise, and and hooks his fingers more firmly around the material of Reim's coat. "I couldn't seem to-" he coughs wetly, "summon Hatter fully."

"I'm glad," Reim scolds him. He shifts his weight. "You'd have tried something like that, and you really would have killed yourself." They are upright now, or as close as they can come.

As they unfold upward, Break feels his eye roll back. The world slides away, and for a moment Reim's presence slips from him. His fingers unclench, he feels the fabric catch on his fingernails. A sharp movement of the shoulders brings him back, though, and he gasps. The pain rips up his spine, and his side burst. He's not aware of his own cries until his ears seem to unclog, and he registers Reim's apologies.

"'S okay," he snarls angrily, and clamps his mouth shut until his teeth hurt as much as his ribcage. He doesn't like apologies, and he's ashamed by his outburst. Reim ceases his concerned noises, but moves more slowly than before, at a more cautious pace. Break still feels as though he's being pulled apart as they move. His ribs are being leeched out of his body, bone by bone, his hands tremble. A wet noise of the throat and he's opened his mouth again. "Reim," he says, once he can formulate the word.

Reim has found his way out of the room. The hallway here feels open, familiar. He's been here before. Reim clears his throat.

"Yes?" he says.

"Don't think," Break rasps out a small noise between his lips, then swallows the sound and continues, "gonna' last much longer."

Reim's grip tightens around him.

"To be honest," Break concludes dully.

Reim does not respond at first. They seem to have traveled far enough, as Reim slows his steps until they come to a stop. The man takes care as he sets his friend on the cool floor. Break has gone numb again, as he has finally succumbed to shock. He appreciates the lack of pain. His head swims with a peculiar, cotton-like fullness. Reim's palms take rest atop his shoulders, and he realizes that he must have kneeled down at some point. The wall meets his back and he floor feels cool against his legs. His left hand finds the ache of his side and rests there protectively over the wound. The hands at his shoulders, however, become heavier, and Reim's presence seeps closer. The smell of cinnamon and tea returns. Their foreheads collide, gently. One hand trails up his shoulder, past his neck, to cradle his head.

"You are not," says Reim, and his thumb rises to caress that line across his cheek, "going to die."

"So sentimental," Break grumbles. Surely he shouldn't allow himself to be held like this, but he finds himself too tired to protest. The remains of his dignity have been stripped of him, and as he lays there, knotted legs outstretched, he has the audacity to lean himself forward, towards the heat of Reim's chest.

Reim does not comment. His fingers simply guide him, as they always have. Arms pull him close. He leans him forward until Break can feel, for the second time, the man's heartbeat through his coat. The steady thump of life, almost trepidatious, he decides.

"You are not going to die." Reim says this again with such conviction that he feels himself start. He can't help but grin, however, and he brings his head to and fro so as to communicate his disagreement.

Reim has the nerve to rearrange himself so as to twang Break over the ear with a movement of forefinger and thumb. "No, really," he tells him, as Break offers a noise of disdain. He moves his hand away again. "Sharon's nearly found our shadows again. About another minute or so and she'll be ready to transport you back to the rooms." He pauses. "She's with Sheryl."

Break mumbles something that sounds like a question.

Reim seems to understand. "She appears to be doing fine," he assures him. "And they've only stationed one man to guard her. Take him out, and the sick room's basically been prepared for you already."

Break only shudders again. "No use." The floor seem to sway beneath him.

"What do you mean, 'no use'?" Reim demands, as though from very far away. He feels the man's head raise by a small amount, by the barest of traces. "I haven't snuck down here to hear you give up on me, you bastard."

"Stupid." He smiles.

"Who's stupid? You are? I am? For what?"

Break grumbles something that sounds profane. He doesn't have the strength to communicate to Reim all the reasons why he will not make the transfer, or much longer after. There are dozens of arguments, of course-those that regard the guard's potential strength and the lack of available medical personnel chief among them-but there's something that nags at him now that runs deeper than common logic. Never before has Break felt so profoundly the knowledge of his demise. He knows, somewhere deep down, that he has finally reached his personal conclusion.

He would prefer to speak to Sharon as well, before the end. But the arms around him bring him such comfort that he does not dare move. Should he try to pry himself away, he senses that his strength will crumble, and he will crumple to the floor.

"Tell Sharon," he says, after a long time, "how much I care about her."

He can almost feel Reim roll his eyes. "Finally," he says, and claps him gently on the shoulder. He arranges his arms again so as to allow his friend some room. Reim's not prepared, however, when Xerxes choses to continue with a, "and remember, Reim, that I love you."

The movement of Reim's arms stops.

The man seems to go rigid, suddenly taunt like a chord. His chest goes tight, and the heart against his pounds doubly so that Break almost feels himself move with each strain.

Break feels too numb for embarrassment.

Suddenly, he feels Reim begin to quake. He does not utter a sound, though. He merely brings his body forward again, hunched like an old man, as though the last thread of youth has been stripped of him. He sags, then, like a stuffed toy. His whole form compressed, he rests his head atop of Break's, to huddle him so close that he near cocoons him by the layers of his coat. Break feels, vaguely, as though he's being drawn towards the end by gentle hands. Perhaps when he emerges from this embrace, he'll be gone. His awareness has begun to slip again. He holds on to Reim by his very fingertips.

As he lies there, swaddled by warmth, he remembers the morning. The soft cream texture of china cups. He does not see Reim's face, as he's faced the other way. Reim behind him. Their backs support each other. The steady rasp of pen against parchment, his cold toes, bare against the textured blue carpet. He could still see colors, then.

He remembers the smell of cinnamon tea. That dark richness of the texture.

"Do you ever wonder," Reim had said once, out of nowhere, "I mean, about woman and things." He had brought up a hand to scratch at his ear. "I've never seen you with anyone, before."

"Why? Are you really so curious?" Break had teased, as usual, and was pleased at the dark shade of red that had crept up from the back of Reim's neck. Break had chuckled at his discomfort and turned away to kick his feet up against a desk. "Because I have none. Nor shall I ever, I assure you."

"Oh, yes, I'd almost forgotten," Reim had shot back at him, face buried between two sheets of parchment. "You're the 'single man'. Mister alone." His tone tensed. "Couldn't collaborate with another human being to save your own skin."

"Am I so really so stupid," Break responded cooly, "to claim my bachelorhood an advantage?" He pursed his lips. He'd felt Reim squirm beside him, almost move away. The man snuck a candy from his pocket, passed the delicacy between his teeth. "I would be a horrible lover, regardless," he had continued, strongly. Tossed a candy at Reim's back.

That time does seem very far away, now. The smell of tea may linger on the linen of Reim's coat, as though the fabric has been drenched by the beverage from sheer exposure, but surely the men themselves have changed. Their circumstances have molded them, the hands of fate formed them. And as he feels the world spill away beneath him, Break cannot help but wonder.

The noise that rips passed Reim's mouth makes his stomach lurch. Almost a sob, meaty and torn from the throat as though by physical force, his chest convulses suddenly. Break draws his hand up to Reim's neck, the only area he can reach from where Reim has him arranged, and runs the fingers along the skin there.

"God, you," Reim manages finally, roughly, and the vibration meets Break's fingers. "God."

Break exhales what was supposed to be a laugh. Reim's choked noises become a small giggle. "So sentimental," he says. Then: "She's found us. Going to get you home."

Break murmurs a response. Sharon's aura, coupled by the power of Equus, envelopes him. He flexes his hand one last time over Reim's skin, then pulls away.

"See you," he rasps out, presently. His hand aches where his fingers had met skin. He has lost control of his movements now, and his hand spasms.

Reim swallows.

Fingers, once laced around material, drop away. Traces of the fabric claw again at his fingernails so that threads come away with him as he sinks. A numbness trails up his body from his lower sternum.

He remembers the sweet smell of cinnamon.

. . .

Well, that's done. I had to do something after that last update. I couldn't help myself. Also, I can't find any more Break and Reim stories, all the authors seem to have gotten up and left xD someone help! If you have even the smallest notion of a story plan, pleeeease give this pairing some love XDD heeeeelp meeee


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